Don't Dead, Open Inside || Action

[postocular]

Who: Carl Grimes, a bunch of zombies, and you
Broadcast: kinda?
Action: Waystation
When: Right now


(( ooc: This is a blanket content warning for blood/gore/death. So! There are zombies ahead and you’ve found yourself on the waystation! You have two options: evacuate, or fight them off. Things of note to remember: Being bitten or scratched are the easiest ways for infection. We don’t suggest being eaten. Magic will be hit or miss depending on player preference/discretion. Characters who become zombies will be treated as in-character deaths. Standard rules apply! The event will last a total of 24 hours. Have fun, and enjoy all the undead things. If there are any questions or anything at all, feel free to pm this journal or hit me up at skorozima. ))

[ The Fleet has been floating along its predetermined path for the past few days, getting further and further away from the Yadrolla System and toward unknown territory. Along the way, those oh-so convenient waystations continue to pop up at their usual intervals. Identical in every way to every other, boring waystation. Neat, right? There are even some of those familiar orange-skinned aliens and some human travelers milling about and generally minding their own business. It’s a good place to stretch your legs, get sodas of questionable flavor, and take those nifty new pets for a walk!

Interrupting the general peace of the waystation, a shrill siren starts, and a robotic voice comes over the intercom as well as all communication devices on the station and surrounding spacecraft, repeating a monotone message. ]


ATTENTION. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. LOCKDOWN IMMINENT. ATTENTION. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. CALMLY EVACUATE USING THE NEAREST EXIT. LOCKDOWN IMMINENT..

[ Soon, it becomes apparent to those on the waystation what the emergency is. A gaggle? A murder??? Just.. a lot of undead. They’re not in any particular hurry, shambling and stumbling along.. until they spot what looks like some good eats. That seems to get them excited, arms stretching forward, teeth gnashing, and more growling than any sort of verbal mishmash meant to be words. THEY’RE NOT A WORDY PEOPLE, OKAY?

For those looking to escape, it’s quite easy to outrun them unless you’re not paying attention to your surroundings. Corners can be tough! Just don’t get bit or scratched and all is well, except for their incessant attempts at making you a snack. For those who haven’t come across them before, or have run into some variation of them in another world, they’re resilient up to the point of losing their head or the brain being destroyed. Limbs being broken or missing don’t seem to slow them down, just send them a little off-balance.

All they know is attack and eat.

For those of the fleet still on their ships, they gravitate around the waystation, seemingly not wanting to go anywhere. There is a short window of time from the emergency alert to the entire waystation going on lockdown. Those wishing to help evacuate can do so- but they have to be quick!

Once the lockdown is in place, communication ceases with the waystation. All the rest of the fleet can do is sit and wait, and hope for the best. The doors will re-open twenty-four hours later, once it’s clear the situation is handled and they can regroup, count their losses, and wait once again for the perished to rejoin their ranks. ]

Comments

[outstandingbalance]

Normally I'd prefer whiskey or beer, but there was a system last year that mostly had vodka. I stocked up.

[Which is to say, there's plenty and she's not especially attached to it.

She's also not in the mood to be alone, or to leave anyone else alone if they don't seem to be looking for it.]

C'mon. Not sure what I have for mixers, but just not, that doesn't seem so important.

[nomadeupname]

I wouldn't have pegged you for a whiskey kind of girl. [He's more of a bourbon kind of guy, but he's had some great whiskey in his life before his accident.] What's your favorite one?

[Small talk. It's easier to do than to talk about what has just happened. But with time, there'll be questions coming from Strange, though he doubts he'll have answers.

Solitude is something Strange is used to, but he's certainly not going to turn down the company:]

Straight over ice is fine with me. I think the time to be picky about booze has long passed. Lead the way?

[Stephen files for later the information about systems sometime having hard liquors to be stocked up on the ship. He's not really a heavy drinker anymore, but days like this one might justify having something to drink back in his bunk.]

[outstandingbalance]

Not sure I have a brand. Especially not out here—Irish, all things being equal. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes enjoy a Scotch or bourbon.

[Apparently Canadian whiskey isn't getting any love today. The real lesson here might be that Natasha has drunk widely enough to have preferences and being discerning, but she's not one to revel in the luxuries.

She does lead the way, heading back for Vanquish now that they can access their ships again.]

You come through everything okay?

[nomadeupname]

Mmm, [he hums approvingly,] the Irish do know their whiskey. If we ever have a chance to get back home, I highly recommend trying a Redbreast 12-years, if you can get your hands on a bottle.

[Stephen has tasted many whiskey in his life, just like Nat has, but he's been living on the wealthy side for most of his life, and while he's tried many whiskey, he's always had a preference for the expensive ones. Something he'll forever miss in his new life: the taste of good liquor.

And Canadian whiskey should probably be left to hairy mutant with sharp claws.

Stephen raises an eyebrow at Nat's question, a somewhat amused smile on his lips:]

Are you worried about me, Miss Romanoff?

[The concern is not unwelcomed, even if Strange jests about it. Still, he nods once:]

I can't lie and say this was something common for me, usually dead people stay dead when I sign their certificate. But I'll be fine. I've seen worse.

[Because fighting an entity that dwells in the Dark Dimensions counts as worse than zombies, right?]

[outstandingbalance]

Imagine it wouldn't surprise you if I said I'm good at getting my hands on things, if I want them. [He knows who she is; why pretend?]

It seems like the kind of thing it's worth asking. Zombies aren't exactly an every day occurrence.

[Hitching a shrug.] At least not here. Not back home either—unless I lucked out and got to miss the dead coming back to life.

[nomadeupname]

[He chuckles lightly] No surprise there, no. And it shouldn't be too hard to find, just...costly. Although, I'll assume this wouldn't be a problem for you either?

[He's not judging: Stephen is pretty sure that if Natasha steals, it's most likely from war lords and drug cartels. No tears worth shedding there.]

No, no, I can assure you, the dead are still staying dead in our world. I'm sure it would have made the headlines if they hadn't.

Do you know what might have caused here?

[It might not be a common occurrence on the Fleet, but maybe there is a simple explanation that Natasha might know from her past experiences on the ships and way-stations.]

[outstandingbalance]

There's a kid in the fleet I know. Carl. This sort of thing happens in his world. Allegedly it's caused by a disease—not sure the exact vector, but he knows it.

[She'd been able to see that much in his memories herself.]

They all carry it. Anyone who dies comes back as one of those. Anyone who gets bit or scratched does the same.

[And this is why they deserve a drink.]

Could be that we just came across the same thing, or theoretically if something happened to one of them...